Courage Revived
by AlaskanFan
Summary: Amanda deals with the emotional damage of getting shot in Mission of Gold.


This story is slightly AU only because it shifts the timeline of one ep. Amanda was shot in Mission of Gold (aired 2/20/87) and then faced down the baddies in One Flew East a week later. In this story, I'm assuming that Amanda needed at least 2 months to recover before the case in One Flew East occurred. Otherwise, this conforms to canon.

 **Courage Revived** – by AlaskanFan

 **Monday, April 13, 1987**

Cleaning.

Cleaning is good.

It restores order. It banishes dirt and germs. It is calming.

As long as she focused on _cleaning_ she could _do_ this. Solvent, brushes and oil had been used and tidily returned to their assigned places in the kit. As with all cleaning products, the scent was the lingering evidence of a job well done. The metal pieces scattered across the desk hadn't been this clean since they left the factory.

Her gut clenched as she shifted from cleaning to reassembly. Her fingers fumbled with the barrel and then the spring as she dropped each of them before replacing them one at a time in the slide. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and one deep breath before picking up the frame. Her hands trembled as she clutched the metal parts, and she paused, resting her wrists on the desk top, shaking her head quickly trying to shake off the tension. She aligned the pieces, but like magnets repelling, the metal parts resisted one another. Or rather, her mind was repelled by the object in her hand and her emotional conflict issued competing demands to her muscles.

She released the sections with a clatter and hugged herself, rubbing her arms briskly to dispel her quivering. Again, she picked up the slide and frame, and concentrated on the challenge. As the slide successfully engaged with the frame, a loud _bang_ shattered the silence of the room - causing her heart to race and her suddenly nerveless hands to drop the weapon with a thud.

In the split second between opening the Film Library door and slamming it against the wall, Lee saw the bent head and the Beretta, and then saw her head jerk up with terror in her eyes as a response to the sudden noise – a noise as piercing as a gun shot. His anger boiled over into fury as he realized that his entrance had made a bad situation into a worse one. She hid her terror by closing her eyes and turning her head away from him.

"Amanda, you don't have to do that!" he growled. In three angry strides, he was looming beside her desk. "Leatherneck should have known better than to have you cleaning guns so soon after being shot. He knows how much you hate them." He ran both hands through his hair then planted them firmly on his hips. If he didn't keep them anchored there, he would likely put his fist through the wall. When she looked up at him, the look of terror had been replaced by her normal calming expression. He was a little disturbed at how easily she mastered her features. He wondered how often she did that, and how much she had hidden from him.

She placed her elbows on the desk and crossed her arms to hide their shaking. She looked up at him with a patient smile. "Now, Lee, we're starting with the easy part. Leatherneck and I agreed that maybe it would be best if I got used to handling guns before trying to shoot them. And, you know, I'm really good at cleaning. Do you suppose they make a gun oil with lemon fresh scent?" She kept her voice light and soothing, and regretted the ragged breathing that betrayed her own level of agitation. Her little joke about the scent didn't make a dent in his anger, so she tried another tack. "Look, I've been cleared for light duties and cleaning this gun didn't cause any pain. Take a look. Think it would pass inspection at the range?" She nodded towards the pistol in the center of her desk.

"Ah, Amanda," he huffed, grabbing her gently by her arm and pulling her up and into his embrace. Her body thrummed with the ebbing tension. "Are you sure you want to push yourself like that? Billy said they'd be glad to have you in the Research Department. Wouldn't learning computer skills be easier than forcing yourself to handle a gun?"

She released the hug and took a step back. She laid her hand on his chest, reluctant to completely end the contact. Sweetly, but resolutely she said, "Lee, I don't want to leave the field. We work best as a team and I want to be the one watching your back. I successfully cleaned this gun today. And I'll do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, until I can do it without flinching." His anger at Leatherneck was curbed by his pride in her. She was the gutsiest woman he had ever met. Despite the dangers and threats over the last four years, she never backed down from a challenge. She gazed into his eyes steadily, knowing that he would be looking for any sign of wavering.

They had talked about her returning to work dozens of times. He was terrified of losing her, but her quiet persistence kept overcoming his fear. "I'm sorry I startled you with the door. When Leatherneck told me your assignment for today, I just lost it." He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and sighed heavily. "I know this is important to you, but you don' t have to rush into anything."

Before she could reply, Francine stepped into their office. "Scarecrow, we really need the Holcomb file and everyone is waiting on you to start the meeting." Her eyes flicked to the gun on the desk, then between the partners. She raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow in question, but made no comment.

"Sure, I'll get it. Be right down." The blonde agent left with a jangle of jewelry, and Lee picked up the file from his desk. "This meeting could take a few hours. I'll be over for dinner around 7:00."

"Good. I'll be leaving in another hour and that will give me plenty of time to get the groceries and start the roast. I'll look forward to seeing you." She smiled reassuringly and tilted a cheek to accept his parting kiss.

As the senior agent's footsteps faded down the stairs, Amanda dropped heavily into her chair and cradled her face in her hands. Now that she was alone, she could drop the pretense. Cleaning the gun had been exhausting. What if her hands trembled like that when she needed to reload? Lee could get shot waiting for her to provide back-up.

Her motto through recent months had been "Normal and natural" but the effort to appear normal was getting harder. With Lee's fears and her mother's smothering concern, Amanda felt beseiged on all sides. She needed _someone_ to boost her confidence, not undermine her efforts.

 **Wednesday, April 15, 1987**

Hardware class hummed quietly as Agency recruits settled at their tables, exchanging greetings and small talk. All eyes turned to Beaman as he hurried through the door, flustered by his own tardy arrival.

"There has been a, uh, a slight change in plans. Apparently, due to a threat to national security, our scheduled speaker about missiles will be unable to be with us today." Beaman fidgeted with his papers, and his glasses, and his tie. He hated being unprepared, but he had managed to improvise. "Instead, we will, uh, we will move our lecture about ballistics to this week instead of next week. Leatherneck will join us in just a moment."

"What's the threat?" Geiger asked..

"That is a need to know situation, and you..." Beaman paused suggestively.

"Don't need to know," several voices spoke in unison.

Amanda was only vaguely aware of that brief conversation. Her heart rate had increased and sweat had prickled along her back when she heard that the ballistics lecture would be given today. She thought she had more time to brace herself for this topic. Since getting shot and becoming intimately aware of the damage a bullet could cause, she hated guns even more than before. She licked her lips nervously and concentrated on slow, steady breathing as Dr. Pfaff had advised.

Leatherneck's ballistics talk was a standard component of training and the Quartermaster entered the room a minute behind Beaman, carrying a variety of firearms. He was excited about a new feature in today's presentation. He planned to use details from a recent case to illustrate some key points. The weapons thumped onto the speaker's table as he arranged the items for show and tell.

"Today I'll share an illustration of what _not_ to do, then we'll get into the preliminary details of firearms and various issues about bullets – weight, velocity, wind variables, and such. Our shooter in today's example used a 700 Remington – a bolt-action rifle that is capable of heavy fire power." Leatherneck held up the rifle, operating the bolt as he spoke. "Today's shooter made the mistake of thinking that a big gun would make him a good marksman. No gun can do that for you. If you've been to the range, and I think I've seen most of you there, you might remember that one of the signs in the armory reads: _There is No Substitute for Time Spent at the Range._ Fire power is irrelevant if you don't know how to shoot."

Amanda kept her head bent over her notes. It almost didn't matter what she was writing. Staying focused on the ink and the shape of letters helped subdue the repeating memory of hearing a gun shot and feeling its impact. The edge of panic fluttered distractingly. Breathing in: "Normal and natural." Breathing out: "Normal and natural."

"Anyway, back to our shooter – another mistake was that he shot his weapon in a public location, potentially endangering dozens of people. The bad guys don't generally care about hurting the innocent, but you will always have to consider the consequences of returning fire and who might be endangered by your own shots. Fortunately for us, he also made the mistake of choosing the least effective ammunition for his firearm."

Leatherneck picked up two cartridges for comparison. "This cartridge, with the pointed end, is a 17 Remington, which our shooter used. This other cartridge, with the blunt end, is called a "hollow point" bullet. A hollow-point bullet is designed to expand on impact providing maximum internal damage. That means that it is less likely to go _through_ the target, because it mushrooms and sends some of its force in a lateral direction, rather than forward along its original trajectory. In other words, it creates a crater, rather than a slender puncture wound. Keep that in mind; I'll return to that point in a minute."

"Now, back to the 17 Remington. This bullet is made for shooting small game. Any obstacle, like a branch, chain-link fence, or window, would slow the projectile diminishing its effectiveness. In this instance, the bullet penetrated a windshield." Amanda froze as she suddenly realized that he was talking about her – _her shooting_. Her hand hovered above the page as she fought the sudden urge to vomit. Her heart beat sped up again and she closed her eyes to concentrate on suppressing the tidal wave of emotions. She gripped her pen tightly as Leatherneck continued with enthusiasm.

"Remember, that a hollow-point bullet would have begun expanding upon impact, shattered the windshield, and created a huge hole in its target. But luckily, our shooter chose a 17 Remington that pierced the windshield leaving only a small hole and losing some momentum; entered and exited a body leaving a narrow puncture wound; and buried itself in the back of the front seat of the vehicle. It was _not_ a killing shot. I said this is "lucky" because the innocent bystander was our own Mrs. King. And the shooter's mistake was our gain." Leatherneck grinned with delight and began applauding Amanda's survival. The blood roared in Amanda's ears and the room seemed to spin around her. She gripped the sharp edge of the table tightly to give her a single point of focus.

There was a small flurry of applause and "congratulations" around the room. Amanda forced herself to look around smiling, but avoided eye contact. She was relieved when the lecture resumed and attention shifted back to Leatherneck. The sharp crack of gunfire and the jolt of impact played through her mind on a continuous loop as the rest of the lecture passed in a blurr. _Breathe, Amanda._ Crack! Jolt! _Normal and natural._ Crack! Jolt! _Breathe._

Lee had been reluctant to describe the details of the shooting, and Amanda had been reluctant to hear it. Despite all of that, she needed to know the public account that would be common knowledge at the Agency. So one quiet night at his apartment, he held her tightly, _safely_ , as they discussed the shooting and the public story of their trip. By the time she had returned to work, the initial excitement about the case had dulled into old news. There had been minimal conversation about her experience, and Amanda was happy to avoid the topic.

Lee had told Billy that they had planned the trip to California to help Barney and his friend with a local mystery. There was no obvious threat to national security, so the partners agreed to tackle Barney's concerns on their vacation time, rather than using official channels. It wasn't the first time Lee had taken vacation days to follow-up on a lead. What had begun as a favor for an old friend, had resulted in recovering $38 million of United States gold taken last June in the Harper's Ferry heist. Lee and Amanda had received official commendations from the U.S. Department of the Treasury, and no one was the wiser about the original purpose of the trip, which was their honeymoon. If Amanda had not been shot, the incident would have been forgotten weeks ago.

It was truly a miraculous shot. Amanda had stared at medical diagrams until the images burned into her brain. The bullet had caused plenty of damage, but she had survived. Like threading a needle, there was only one possible route it could have taken to allow her to recover as she had. The shot could have pierced her heart or lungs, resulting in instant death. It could have shattered her shoulder blade or her spinal column, resulting in permanent disability. It could have hit a major blood vessel, causing her to swiftly bleed out. But it did none of those things. It defied the odds.

As Leatherneck continued the lecture oblivious to her distress, Amanda battled the suffocating sense of panic. Maybe Lee was right; maybe it _is_ too soon. Maybe…. _maybe_ …. she'll never be ready.

 **Friday, April 17, 1987**

The heavy door eased shut behind her, and Amanda shifted the big box in her arms to redistribute the weight more comfortably. She paused to let the peace settle over her before walking to the front.

There were already more than a dozen Easter lilies massed on the altar and a few set along the edge of the podium on the right side. With an eye to symmetry, Amanda moved toward the left and carefully placed five pots of lilies in a straight line. She knew there would be dozens more added by Sunday morning, and she was pleased to have her loved ones represented here. As usual, she had brought one lily for each of her grandparents and one for her dad.

Satisfied, she took a deep breath and sighed, enjoying the scent of the lilies. She tilted her head back to see the large cross, draped in purple for Lent. She noticed the other decorations in the choir loft, atop the organ, and behind the piano. Much of it was familiar, a comforting sameness that soothed her taut nerves. She drifted to the far end of the front pew and sank onto its cushioned seat. It was a rare treat to be alone and she savored the quiet.

Her physical therapy session this morning had been discouraging. She had worked hard for weeks, and her progress was slower than she wanted it to be. Fixing her hair, cleaning the shower, and changing the sheets on the bed were still significant challenges. With limited use of her left arm, she had to be creative to get things done. And everything took so much longer because she had to stop every few minutes to rest her aching muscles. She was tired of hurting. She was tired of feeling drained. But most of all, she was tired of projecting a confidence that she no longer felt. It was good to lay aside the pretense for a few minutes in the sanctuary.

The sun eased out from behind a cloud, and its reflection shimmered brightly across the vases holding the lilies, reminding Amanda why she was here. She often thought of Grandma West when she was in church and today's memory was like finding forgotten treasure. When a tearful Amanda lay in bed after a frustrating day of trying to learn how to ride a bike without training wheels, Grandma West said, "Oh, child, it only becomes _failure_ if you stop trying." The old brown eyes shining with love looked into the young brown eyes until their frustration was replaced by courage. "Then, tomorrow, I will try again," Amanda replied, and did.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she was startled by Reverend Mills as he stepped onto the podium. The fringe of white hair resembled a halo atop his tall, lean frame. He smiled warmly as he welcomed the small gathering to the Good Friday service. With dismay, Amanda realized that she had forgotten the time. Her brief respite had lasted longer than she had intended, and now she couldn't leave without appearing rude. Her failure to notice the murmurs and bustle of arriving parishioners was another reminder that she had lost her edge – another reminder that Lee's life could be endangered by her mistakes. She bowed her head in regret and choked down her disappointment.

In her job, hesitation and distraction could result in death. Since meeting Lee, she had faced danger numerous times and had survived with her courage intact. But now, the still-aching gun shot wound reminded her relentlessly of the risks, and she feared she would fail him at a critical moment. The impact of the bullet as it tore through her body had created a similar, but larger, hole in her psyche. Despite the counseling and her own determination, her soul – her courage – wasn't recovering.

Amanda stood and sat, sang and prayed with the others, but a portion of her attention remained on the growing concern that she might not recover from this trauma – her fear that the bullet had killed her courage.

As Reverend Mills began his Good Friday sermon, Amanda was gradually able to focus on the message of life conquering death. As he spoke, the banked embers of her childhood faith were stirred and a tiny flame of hope sprang into being. It was his closing comment that fueled the fire into a small but sustainable blaze. He said, "A God powerful enough to resurrect the dead is _more than able_ to restore troubled marriages, heal diseased bodies, and revive dying courage."

As he ended the service with prayer, Amanda remembered a Bible verse promising that Jesus would be with her always. The gaping wound in her courage shrank just a tiny bit as she considered the implications of that Presence. It made a difference to know that she didn't stand alone against the doubts surrounding her and the even worse doubts arising within her. Yes, she could trust that her body _and her courage_ would recover eventually. It would only become failure if she stopped trying.

 **THE END**

Author's Note: There are far more readers than reviewers here on . I am _not_ pleading "please review my story," but I am gently reminding all readers that authors are encouraged by feedback and it doesn't take long to leave reviews either here or on other fanfic sites. We write for pleasure, but it increases the pleasure to know that someone enjoyed reading our work.

I hope you and yours have a very blessed Easter.


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